jean

just okay i thought, after finishing it. but i'll credit it for helping me along while i cleaned.

i will say that i thought the partial frame tale device(recounting to a detective) was handled poorly; just put the detective's dialogue into the text, rather than having the narrator repeat it all back before answering in a completely insane, unnatural way.

Probably worth the read, but I do have reservations with presenting just being less comfortable/doing ‘hard things' as a sort of cure-all. Near the end of the book Easter says that after coming back from his trip he implicitly understood that his modern “problems” weren't really problems, but not all problems that people in developed countries go away with a little hiking or hunting. I feel like a little appreciation for this would have helped the book seem less annoying in this respect, definitely would have given more credence to all the perspective Easter couldn't stop mentioning he was gaining. An obvious example of what I mean is an example of a Special Forces soldier that does tons of hard things and exercises and is insanely fit, yet suffers from PTSD that more hiking isn't going to wash away.

I am kind of nitpicking though, because I think it introduces a lot of worthwhile ideas that almost everyone in rich countries could use today.

A favorite for sure, one of the most riveting books I've read.

Absolutely ace writing in every way.

Probably worth a listen, but I definitely struggled through it and just finished it for the sake of finishing. I wish it had continued the way it had started with the immersion in the real experience of going through climate crises. There were some interesting concepts here and there, but mostly not much i felt i could grab on to through what started to feel like overly optimistic day dreaming.

An entertaining and hilarious book that brims with all the pain of war. Slaughterhouse-Five gets across an entire message and barely explicitly utters a word of it.

I finally read this (my sister had purchased it a while ago) mostly because of the unrest after the murder of George Floyd. I have to say, I was kind of shocked by how unrelenting it was; I think it's a useful and valuable book for sure. Kind of interesting how whether or not books like this(white people talking to white people about racism) existed before DiAngelo released White Fragility, none seems to have ever been nearly as popular or impactful.

Just a couple things I didn't like. Literally two.

- I felt she spent a lot of time repeating herself(probably necessary) and not enough time explaining certain terms and concepts she used. While reading, I tried to read it as if I were a skeptical/defensive white person. Early on in the book, she starts talking about how schools/America are still “segregated,” but doesn't quite explain much of how or why. Seems like something easy to balk at if one is looking for any reason to discredit the book and its ideas: Title 9 exists, de jure segregation à la Jim Crow no longer exists. At the same time, I think she mentioned that she wouldn't be explaining how America has been/is racist, and it's certainly a tall order to do so in one book (whose length would certainly turn people off). I guess I just wish there were some sections explaining certain things more fully, instead of repeated same-y anecdotes about her experiences in various workshops.

- The chapter on “White Woman Tears:” I definitely agree with the issue of white women weaponizing their emotions against people of color. What I don't agree with is the idea that it's somehow offensive when white women cry or are visibly upset when they are confronted with racism's effects on people of color. It's the first section of that chapter, I believe, and I just couldn't see the real justification for the embargo on this behavior. Personally I think that the black woman that approached DiAngelo was mostly in the wrong to say that “she didn't want to see any white woman's tears today.” Sure–if I were watching a white woman cry about unarmed black people getting shot, I would definitely be wondering if she were a decent “ally” herself and not just...sad about seeing people die...but I don't think that this emotional barrier should be maintained or erected. I can't see what purpose it serves. It's okay to not want performative/narcissistic tears to end up burdening or harming people of color, but not all instances of white women crying where race is a cogent factor can be classified as such. Feels like telling men not to cry in front of women in a feminist context–this actually doesn't help men, or women, and emotional repression probably makes a lot of tangible problems like domestic abuse worse.

Otherwise, powerful book; I definitely recommend it.

Surprisingly engaging listen for the most part, though the story is probably quite transparent from the getgo. Also surprisingly gay on Carmilla's part, though you shouldn't be expecting any sort of romance; the narrator is absolutely naïve and pure (which of course, means she can't reciprocate–she's only ever confused by Carmilla's affection/devotion.).

I know tons of people are very into the queer horror category (it's pretty interesting); definitely give it a read/listen if that's your thing.

this was alright, i enjoyed it mostly (i did binge it) but it definitely suffers the problem of having characters that can't do anything but turn every normal conversation into a fight. would probably have been less grating if i'd read it rather than listened to the audiobook.

i wasn't sure what i expected when i went into this, but i have to say i'm pretty disappointed.

the part of the book that centered on Elio's dad was honestly agonizing. if that were the whole thing, I might not have finished it. it was only after it became clear that we'd switched to Elio that i felt like i could go on.

there's a hell of a lot of...romantic and familial entanglement, i'll call it. tons of parallels and connections made (explicit and implicit) between Samuel and Miranda's dad, between other father-son relationships and Elio's relationships, and there's even the inexplicable fact that Samuel and Miranda's son is named for Oliver–Aciman states the obvious later through Elio (‘the child felt like ours'). i think the most frustrating aspect of these relationships that runs through the book is the ‘instant deep connection' thing.

i don't understand how this is...the sequel, and that it's serious...so much of it is cliché and amazingly overwrought and borderline nonsensical. there are parts of Aciman's prose that i still like, but there were probably even more parts that had me rolling my eyes or pausing in disgust. definitely feels like the kind of book only a previously-massively-successful author can get someone to publish.

anyway, if you adored CMBYN, you might just want to skip this one. if you want to read about manic pixie dream girls and wealthy middle-aged men that are dead inside, pick up one of the few Murakami books that fits the bill.

Didn't enjoy the romance-ish part, or the way that all the woman characters seemed to compulsively drool over one other character. I also think it took too long to get going, but I made it through the audiobook without quitting, so it wasn't too bad in that respect. One other thing I disliked was the constant interruption of kid-dialogue.

The books is centered on differences between intention and reality(especially things no one can control, like happenstance), and includes a ton of remarks on subtle interactions and vocalizes a lot of thoughts that people would never actually admit to, usually. That's a large part of why it was entertaining enough to read(listen to) for me.

Kind of feels like a ‘book club book' if that makes sense. Lots of things to talk about with people that might spur discussion or sharing of similar stories, but beyond subtle racism and class, it also feels like the rest of it just isn't that deep. The rest of the main character's life feels like it didn't really matter at all, and I suspect the toddler may very well have been thrown in as a plot device that could add to the novel's word count.

probably my favorite read this year so far. quite fun and was actually good (meaningful). solid audiobook performance as well.

Almost perfect advice imo, there was a little ‘fat' that could have been trimmed but it didn't really harm my experience much. I think i'll be reaping dividends from the argument in this book for a long time.

positives: the journey he made is obviously impressive and exceptional. i respect anyone that can do what he did, regardless of how they got it done.

interesting: it's extremely clear through the whole book that he has a high amount of economic privilege. it's especially effusive as his life story progresses and he starts working out. there's no question, save for one short episode, about doing anything related to his training. this isn't bad, it's just a part of his struggle that is sort of alienating. sure, hire a coach, buy carbon fiber bikes, kit, buy exclusively organic food and obsess over your Vitamix, choose to work wherever you want, etc. he stopped being #relatable when he started getting in shape, basically.

negative: Roll perpetuates vegan diet myths and puts emphasis on the wrong things in my opinion. for one, the section on soy is simply incorrect. it's funny reading him have tantrums about when he couldn't eat perfectly due to...being poorly prepared, and could only eat, say, vegan plebian thai takeout. he really seems to be on that rich Hollywood vegan stereotype train.

probably the biggest negative relating to the content of the book, however, is the fact that it feels like an ad in a lot of ways. instead of just talking about his plant based diet, Roll must mention his “special” (it's not) PlantPower (there might as well be an ® or ™️ after it) diet and his Vitamix every single page. certainly felt like it.

overall the book was okay, i guess. he seemed to really focus heavily on his personal life for a long time, then he went really hard on the series of triathlons he did, and then it just ended. i felt it cut off early and without enough commentary or insight, but it was fine. i felt his transition to fitness was lacking in detail as well, and that made it somewhat hard to grasp at times. wouldn't necessarily recommend it to anyone that isn't a big fan of his. i like his podcast and all, but that's much more about the guests than this guy.

read a Scott Jurek book instead imo.

Plath's ability to relay Esther's experience of being drawn into an abyss is simultaneously remarkable and unfortunate. It's easy to see that she was a poet.

I might have Baldwin-fatigue, but I thought this was just ok. I have to say I don't think it's much compared to [b:Another Country 38474 Another Country James Baldwin https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1353255131s/38474.jpg 1427427], [b:Go Tell It on the Mountain 17143 Go Tell It on the Mountain James Baldwin https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1348424233s/17143.jpg 1027995], or [b:Giovanni's Room 38462 Giovanni's Room James Baldwin https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1501485157s/38462.jpg 814207] ... which is fine, because those are some damn hard-hitters. It's interesting because this almost feels like one of those novels some hugely successful author wrote before they found success with better, later works. This is the opposite, which makes sense somehow; Baldwin was nothing if not unconventional.

kind of proud that i could tell the guy was probably mormon lol.

a worse read when compared with Eat & Run, i think. reading these ultrarunners' books...i find my mind is completely boggled. not at the distance, necessarily, but because they really end up putting their health on the line, but they seem so health-obsessed, too. maybe these just aren't for me. still going to read Born to Run though.

jurek really tends to paint a bleak picture with practically every race he describes, and then turns around at the last minute and describes how he won handily seemingly out of nowhere. this gets both old and confusing; he spends way too much time describing pure struggle for me to really comprehend how he won or made it through to the end in many instances. wish he would get into that more in his writing.

this particular journey was somewhat mindnumbing and frustrating to read. jenny's sections help break it up, and i probably wouldn't have even finished this if it were just scott's perspective. overall it's a very interesting juxtaposition with how this FKT is shown in the Game Changers film. the worst part for me was realizing that jurek basically admits he fucks around and wastes a ton of time early on, then at the end he's dangerously sleep-deprived, delirious, and metabolizing his own muscle (cardiac risk) because of how he mismanaged the trip...because of his ego. didn't feel a bit of sympathy at that point. the last sections, especially, sounded very dangerous, and i was definitely annoyed with how they seemed to approach that.

the fkt seems like it was a herculean, community effort, and i admire scott's grit, but reading about it definitely took the luster off the record for me. also solidified how much of sports can be about resources. i doubt some no name with similar capabilities to jurek would get away with messing about like he did, because they wouldn't get nearly as much help. he called in like eight lifelines to push and pull and drag him along.

Came back to finish the last quarter of this after I'd read [b:If Beale Street Could Talk 38463 If Beale Street Could Talk James Baldwin https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1388182698s/38463.jpg 1413005], so I do think I've been afflicted with some same-author-fatigue. That being said, Another Country is packed with a lot and, I think, shows off some really good character development within the main group. Some of his preferred adjectives get exasperating after a while (“bewildered,” jesus), and even the behavior of the characters does: all the young men are bisexual artists, none of the women are anything but straight–and quite sexual, in a commodified way. They all drink and smoke and suffer from the urban ennui constantly.But it gets real in a lot of ways that too many works of art(and people...everyone) shy away from or are too intent on being ‘clean' to confront.

More intricate than it seems, I think. Touches on a lot that anyone in a relationship can relate to as well. I don't know how to put it really, but this is a beautiful novel with a smooth translation; Murakami's words sneak up on you and slam you with their power. South of the Border, West of the Sun digs deep in an understated way.

A book that “ought” to be read if interested in vegetarianism for any reason, because it's a bit of a landmark, no matter how one might feel about Singer. I'd say he develops his points pretty thoroughly, but there are some places where I think he takes his conclusion for granted (mainly w/r/t ‘hypocrisy' and species/sex/race-ism). I find the “interests” argument pretty compelling. However, I started reading this already mostly-convinced, so I can't really speak to the conversion power of this book.

christ.

Noticeable shift in tone (frustration and anger are clear) and structure (more loose, elaborative, anecdotal) when compared with Baldwin's earlier essays.

Out of the Silent Planet kicks off the Space Trilogy perfectly; the end is succint but Lewis opens the world up enough that the transition to the next book, Perelandra, is delightfully smooth. While all of Lewis' works are known to an extent, The Space Trilogy largely suffers in the shadow of The Chronicles of Narnia.

But its better, even though they are different.

Out of the Silent Planet prompts thought and explores life in a new world the way that Narnia never did. It is explicit and deep where Narnia only skips along the surface. Even so, Lewis retains–even multiplies–the beauty and wonder of Narnia throughout this first book. Every page is entirely worth the time it takes to read, and the experience of Out of the Silent Planet is sweet to remember.

3.5

Silence hits hard for anyone that can put themselves in Father Rodrigues's headspace (especially a person that has genuinely participated in a religion). In Silence, the suffering that comes with real missionary work steadily wears away his initial idealism and excitement. Rodrigues watches Japanese die for their faith, which forces him to come to terms with his own pride, selfishness, and self-righteousness. Not to mention the issues this brings up for Christianity itself, especially in Japan.

Though the book was somewhat repetitive–there were several spots that were almost exactly as they had happened before–this is small compared to the real strong point of Silence. The mentality of Rodrigues was striking in its realism, and I loved the way that Endo framed the narration around Rodrigues's thoughts and emotions. Rodrigues constantly picks up the sounds of the natural world while the most important figure in his life remains both silent and faceless. His anguish as he pines for God is almost palpable. Endo pits the non-presence of God and ever present nature against each other, while the indifference of God and nature come together. An interesting part of the book is the exploration of the priest's despair in the face of this indifference and the absurdity that these concepts lead to. Rodrigues puts himself in Christ's shoes during his trials just as Endo brings the reader into the grit of what the priest has to go through in hiding, and eventually as a prisoner.

The characters were a little on the “look what I represent!” side, I suppose, though I think they were still interesting and meaningful. Garrpe, I think, was a “good Christian.” He remains strong where Rodrigues does not, even before they're captured. Kichijurō was a kind of Judas for Rodrigues, but at the same time I caught myself wondering if he was supposed to be a figuring of God. He brings about all kinds of suffering for Rodrigues, betrays him–Rodrigues literally follows him on a path, eats fish, and drinks water from him (my point being that these are very “Christian” sorts of things). Kichijurō is also strangely, perhaps almost impossibly omnipresent as Rodrigues is taken from island to city to prison again and again. Still, Rodrigues repeatedly says he can't hate him for some reason. Kichijurō really tests Rodrigues's limits as a priest. On the other hand he could be a reflection/representation of Rodrigues's own “weakness” as a priest/Christian/human.

Overall a really good book, but I think a lot of that goodness can depend on what the reader's own life experience has been. I think people very familiar with Christianity will get the most out of it. Bonus if you can read Latin. Deus Vult!